Stating the obvious
by brokentoyinlalaland
Summary: he's a possessive kind of person, you knew that, didn't you?


You're drunk.  
And you're very much aware of that.  
You're even less steady on your feet than you're used to, and everything surrounding you has been eaten up by a consistent fog that smells very much like scotch.  
You don't even know why you choose to go out [walking, nonetheless, as if it was something you had the ability to do anymore], but the fact is, now you're here, just a couple of stairs away from her.

And you really don't know what possessed you to do this.

The last thing you can remember is her, sitting on a stool in a pub near the hospital, talking to some guy [blond, tall, both legs working-everything you're not].  
And it was okay. It did not affect you. No, not the talking. Not the looks they where exchanging. Not the smiles.  
You just stared at them out of curiosity. You where studying her. Because seeing her with someone other than Wilson, Chase and Foreman it was rare. So you thought it would be interesting studying her interaction with other people.  
She seemed relaxed, she was enjoying herself, forgetting her barely touched drink for the sake of some funny [clearly, he _had _to be a nice guy too] story he was telling her. So you kept on watching her.

And she didn't notice you.  
She didn't turn around under your stare.

And that was what affected you.

Big time.

She was unaware of your stare. You were looking at her so intently that you might as well have bored two holes in her black sweater, but she didn't even turn in your direction.  
She was not ignoring you.  
She just didn't notice you.

And it never happened before. Not once.  
Every time you laid your eyes on her she always had some kind of _physical _reaction.  
She looked away. She held your stare. She blushed. She clenched. She squirmed, even.  
And you found it amusing at first, it was kind of funny actually. The way she reacted to your stare made you feel powerful, made you think you had some kind of twisted power on her body.  
You could make her squirm under your gaze, and that not only was amusing, that, was _arousing_.

And now, she wasn't even aware of your stare.  
She kept on laughing to some fucking joke Big Jim [doctor off duty version] had made, flashing him her smile, the same one that sometimes she dared to flash _you_, completely oblivious of your presence.

It was just unacceptable.

Next thing you know, you're wasted on your couch, empty bottle of scotch in one hand, vicodin in the other.  
And somewhere between 11 pm and 1 am you decided it would have been a good idea to ask her _why_.

Why she didn't sense your presence.  
Why she did not turn around as soon as you cast your eyes on her.

_What changed?_

So now you're here, drunk beyond every rational thought, outside her door, pounding with your cane and hoping not to find Big Doctor Boy opening the door, because, in that case, your cane would have hit something much more tender than a wooden door.

It's not him.

It' Cameron.

A very pissed one, too.

She's looking at you, simply looking at you, with her quirked little eyebrow, and the only thing you can think now is _thank god she's looking at _me.

- What the hell is wrong with you?

You know this time you really crossed the line, 'cause she's way beyond pissed, she's fucking angry at you and you're seriously starting to think that this will be the time you'll find out how it feels to have a cane pushed up your ass.

You keep looking at her, and you might as well tell her something now, just to let her know that you're not that crazy, and you actually have a reason to be there in the middle of the night.

- You're looking at me.

Ok, if looks could kill now you'd be a very dead cripple.

- Goodnight House.

And she's closing the door. You don't know how you manage to do it, but your foot stops it and she's looking once again in your direction.

- House, go away. You're drunk, I'm tired, and I've got no interest in entertaining you at this fucking hour of the night.

- Who was that?

She stares blankly at you. You can sense that she didn't see _this _coming.

- Wh...What?

- Who was that blond _thing _you were talking to earlier at the bar?

She's shocked. And clenching. She's defending her right to have a private life, and if you where not that drunk maybe you would have accepted this.

But you're wasted, remember?

- House, get the fuck out of here.

- No way.

And you're smiling, 'cause you love all this, you love the way she's getting angrier by the second, the way she's challenging your stare. The way she's not backing away. You have her full attention now, and that's what you came here for.

She tries to slam the door in your face, but even in your alcohol haze you're much stronger than her, and you open it up just enough for you to slip in.

It's a matter of seconds.  
She's too surprised to stop you, and mere moments later you find yourself right where you unconsciously always wanted to be.

Pinning her to the wall. Towering her, holding her stare as well has her hands above her head.

She's looking at you, and she's. scared? intrigued? _aroused? _

It's a new kind of reaction you're having from her. You guess it could be for the hungry stare you're now looking her with.

- House, what are you...

- Who. Was. That?

She holds up her stare again. She looks straight at you, a new kind of confidence radiating from her form.

- And why would that be any of your business?

She's smiling. She's looking straight at you and she's smiling, and now your roles are reversed. She's the one pinning you with her stare, and you can't accept that. It's a game, and you _need _to win at it.

One of your hands lowers, while the other keeps pinning hers up her head. It rests on the waistband of her jeans, and your fingers graze her with the barest of touches. They're there, but really, they're not.

She closes her eyes for a moment, and you immediately miss them.

You lean forward, and as you're nuzzling her neck you whisper.

- Because you're mine.

She opens her eyes again, shots a look at you, and you feel her steading herself, growing stronger.

- I'm not.

But she's blushing, and oh how you love doing this to her.

- Oh sure you are - and yes, you're kissing her neck now, and she's holding her breath - You're mine. You're my favorite toy, actually.

And that's when you find her mouth.  
You kiss her, devour her, keeping her pinned between your body and the wall. You brush yourself against her and she whimpers, finally kissing you back. Your hand skims her skin under her t-shirt, and you feel goosebumps grow along the path you're tracing. It comes behind her neck and you pull her even closer to you, trying to make a single thing out of you two.

Showing her that she's yours and yours alone to take.

Somewhere in the air between you someone moans and you're not even sure who it is. It should be her anyway, 'cause upon hearing that sound a growl escapes your lips and you're lost.  
You release her hands and now you're touching her everywhere, sliding your hands down her body, cupping her butt and pushing her to the wall until you're sure as hell you're the only thing that's holding her up straight.

And then you come up for air.

You wait for her to open her eyes and look at you. And when she does you find her flushed, her pupils dilated, and a stare that must be even hungrier than yours.

- Mine.

She can't muster up the strength to talk, or so it seems, for she barely nods her _yes_.

And you know you just stated the obvious by now, but you got what you wanted nonetheless.  
You claimed your property, you had it marked with teeth and nails, and now it's there, looking at you and craving you and wanting [needing] you.

You touch her hair one last time.

- Don't do that ever again.

And you're out the door before you can even hear her frustrated sound.

*

You go back home sure as hell that now, every time you'll look at her, she'll be very well aware of your presence.


End file.
